


Kiss Me, I'm Irish

by wintersoldier1989



Category: Actor RPF, Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF, Real Person Fiction
Genre: Alcohol, F/M, Meet-Cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:21:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23213953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wintersoldier1989/pseuds/wintersoldier1989
Summary: Sebastian goes out for St. Patrick’s Day while filming in Ireland and ends up at the pub where you work.
Relationships: Sebastian Stan & Reader, Sebastian Stan & You, Sebastian Stan/Reader, Sebastian Stan/You
Comments: 5
Kudos: 42





	Kiss Me, I'm Irish

It’s been a hectic evening and you’re already dead on your feet, just trying to get the drinks in the hands of patrons and survive the special chaos of hell that is St. Paddy’s Day.

“What can I getcha?” You shout over the music at the man who scoops up a rare empty barstool in your section of the bar. 

“What would a native Irishman order on St. Patrick's Day?” He asks in a perfect american accent.

“You mean _St. Paddy’s Day_ ,” you correct him with a quick smile.

“Right,” he says, his cheeks blushing ever so slightly. “Not the first time I’ve been corrected today, unfortunately.”

“Well can’t go wrong with a pint of Guinness, it’s what flows through the veins of most of the lads round here.” You tell him, while also taking a moment to appreciate the bashful look on his face.

“Sure, I’ll take it.” He says, lips turning up into a beaming smile; so bright it’s nearly blinding.

Grabbing a glass, you busy yourself with pouring the Irish stout. It’s hard not to notice the way the man’s grey-blue eyes are watching you intently.

“There ya go,” you tell him, placing the beer on the bar top. “Just need a name for the tab.”

“Sebastian,” he says after taking a sip of his Guinness. “Wow! That’s seriously good. I’ve only ever had it out of a can.”

“You’re not from around here, are you Sebastian?” You ask, not quite sure why you suddenly find yourself so intrigued by this stranger.

“Nope, from New York,” he explains licking away stray foam from his top lip, in a way that you find much too sexy. “Just in town for work.”

You nod, taking extra time to wipe down the bar top despite the numerous drunk people waiting for their next drink.

“In fact, we wrapped early today just so everyone could take full advantage and come party with the locals.

“Lucky you, getting to see us Irish in our natural habitat; drunk and dressed like leprechauns.” You say dryly. 

Sebastian laughs at your joke and you can’t help but smile at the way the corners of his eyes crinkle. The superfluous glance at how good he looks in his green cardigan however, is just for you.

Over the next couple of hours, you check in with him; perhaps a little more frequently than the others at the bar, but no one would dare complain, in fear that you’d cut them off. Pouring Sebastian another round has him telling you all about the cheap green beer he’d drank in his twenties and how it hadn’t ended well. 

A little later, you catch yourself smiling like a fool while watching him try to sing along with the band. But you quickly give your head a shake when your coworker shouts at you from down the bar looking for another bottle of crème de menthe.

“You want another?” You ask, gesturing to his empty pint. “It’s almost last call.”

He gives you a once over, and you don’t miss the way his eyes linger on the low cut neckline of your t-shirt just a little longer than is polite. 

“What do you like to drink?” He asks in return.

You quirk a brow just to see his reaction and the way his skin flushes, showing his nerves, sends a shiver through you. It’s obvious he’s wracking his brain for the right thing to say, so you finally put the poor man out of his misery and answer the question. “Well as a good Irish woman, I prefer a good Irish whiskey.”

“Yeah?” He says, his eyes once again bright with interest. “I’ll take one of those.”

You lean on the bar top, narrowing the distance between the two of you. You take a couple extra beats to take in just how plump and kissable his lips are and then you whisper, “Can I let you in on a secret Sebastian?”

He nods, and the way his breath hitches is almost too much. “It’s customary here in Ireland to buy a round, for yourself _and_ your friends.”

Sebastian leans back, as if he can’t quite take being that close without doing something that he’ll definitely get in trouble for and then he swings his head around the bar like he’s searching for something.

“My friend looks pretty busy,” he says gesturing over to where a couple is mugging the face off of each other by the jacks. “I think there’s a joke to be made about them getting lucky somewhere in there.”

You laugh having been there a time or two yourself. And right now you’re a little jealous that you’re not the one busy sucking face, particularly with Sebastian. “So just one whiskey then?”

“Two,” Sebastian corrects. “One for you, for keeping me company.” 

You’re hooked on the way his eyes sparkle and the timbre of his voice has your cheeks growing hot; suddenly you’re very thankful for the menial task of pouring the drinks.

“Now there’s the _real_ Ireland,” you tell him as he takes a sip. You watch his beautiful face briefly contort as the liquor burns down his throat and he even coughs a little. 

“A little strong for your American sensibilities?” You tease unable to hold back the big smile that creeps onto your lips before you quickly down your drink, completely unaffected.

The conversation flows freely while you clean up for the night and you find yourself completely caught up in the warmth that Sebastian exudes and just how easy he is to be around. You haven’t enjoyed yourself this much on the job, well... ever. The crowd lessens, Sebastian’s friend having left with his “date” and the band packs up for the night. Pretty soon there are no more than a handful of people in the pub and you’re just a little sad that the clock has already passed midnight. 

“Was good to meet you Sebastian.” You say, sliding him the bill; thankful that of all the gin joints, this good-looking stranger had taken a seat at your bar. But like all good things, the night has come to an end. “Hope you enjoy the rest of your time here in Ireland.”

Sebastian passes you his card to settle his tab. And it’s while he’s signing the receipt that you take a second to glance at the name on the card in your hand. Your gaze narrows as you try to place it. “Sebastian Stan.”

He awkwardly rakes a hand through his hair. “The one and only.”

“What is it you said you did for work?” You ask, trying to figure out how on earth this American stranger could somehow be so _familiar._

“I didn’t,” he replies, holding your gaze. “I’m an actor.”

He must see the flash of recognition in your expression because when you don’t answer, he rises from his perch on the barstool and says, “I guess it’s time to go. Happy St. Paddy’s Day, I had a great time with you.” 

It’s impossible to miss the way he sounds almost sad as he says it. And before you can come up with something to say to get him to stay just a little longer, he turns and walks out the door.

***

Bottles have been restocked and the cash drawer emptied. All that’s left to do is wipe down the bar one last time, before you can head home for the night. Though the task takes much longer than it should, seeing as your thoughts are thoroughly consumed by the image of a particular pair of sparkling blue eyes. You let yourself revel in just how much you had enjoyed just _talking_ to him; not that you would’ve minded in the least if he would’ve invited you back to his place. But hey, that’s just wishful thinking. 

You imagine the way his lips would’ve felt against yours, his breath would be tainted with the remnants of the whiskey you’d shared. He’d pin you up against the back of the door, eager to get his hands under your clothes. You’re torn between how much you had wanted to latch your fingers in his hair or use the silver chain around his neck to anchor yourself to him. Either way, you craved for his lips on your skin, leaving marks all over your body from your head to your toes.

Grabbing your purse, you say goodnight to your coworker to let him know you’re leaving. Heading out towards your car, you’re jerked from your daydream by a sudden shout from across the car park and instinctively you tighten your grip on your keys.

“Wait!” A voice calls again and you’re more than a little surprised to see Sebastian jogging over to you, the short sprint leaving him a little out of breath. 

“Hey,” he says with the same kind smile he’d given you hours ago at the bar, though this time it melts your heart just a little.

“Hey,” you whisper back, letting your hand fall back to your side.

“Oh fuck,” he mutters raking a hand through his hair, realization washing over him. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

_Fuck is right._ Your fingers are itching to touch the soft strands framing his face.

“It’s okay,” you tell him, even giving him a small smile in hopes that the furrowed brow marring his beautiful face will disappear. “Just can’t be too careful.” 

“Yeah, definitely. I just wanted to ask you something,” he explains, tucking his hands in his jacket pockets. You look at him expectantly, curious at what a movie star like him could possibly need from someone like you. 

“Ah shit,” he fumbles again, and it’s cute just how nervous he is. “Can I… Can I get your number?”

“Yeah, sure.” You tell him, trying to stay cool. But on the inside your heart is pounding a mile a minute. 

You pass his phone back to him and his fingers purposefully linger on your skin longer than they need to and you find yourself taking a small step to close the gap.

“Can I kiss you?” He suddenly asks, all in a rush; like he’s trying to get the words out before he can change his mind.

“You can kiss me,” you whisper back, your chest already tight with anticipation.

“Yeah?” He replies, lust shrouding his blue-eyed gaze, his words breathy yet still dripping with want.

“Of course,” you nod and shoot him a playful smirk. _“I’m Irish.”_


End file.
